" Was the name of this society The Free Farmers' Brother- hood for Protection and Control?" Al Turpin's painful gaze left the prosecutor's face and slowly moved over the other faces, more distant, there before him. His bulk shifted slightly in the chair, making it creak in the quietness of the room. " I object! That is irrelevant." " Objection overruled." The prosecutor looked at Al Turpin demandingly. " Yes/' Al Turpin said. Wilkins, Mr. Munn observed, was looking at his watch, covertly, beneath the level of the table. " Now, Mr. Turpin," the prosecutor went on, dropping into a tone of familiarity and lounging closer to the witness, " just describe the circumstances of joining this"—he hesitated, then pronounced the words with almost a grimace, as though they had an evil taste on the tongue—"this Free Farmers5 Brotherhood for Protection and Control. Or whatever it is." Wilkins seemed about to rise; then restrained himself." Turpin moved his tongue over his lips, looked at the prose- cutor, and then cast a sudden, wide, wild glance over the fixed faces. "Mr. Turpin-----" Al Turpin let his head sink a little, humbly, and said: " It was one night last spring; I can't say as I recollect the day it was, but it was in May. I went down the dirt road out past my house, like they said for me to, and I seen a man on a horse standing there on one side the road, and he said to me, Fair weather. And I said to him, Fairer tomorrow. Like they told me to. And I went on till I come to that old tumble-down church. A nigger church it used to be till it got too tumble-down. And I went round to the back and I seen some horses-----" Mr. Munn thought, It's coming. He felt the weight of the silence behind him. He looked at Doctor MacDonald. He had not moved. " —and hitched my horse to a sapling. Sassafras, I reckon.